


Sweet Notes

by Redworlds_dog



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redworlds_dog/pseuds/Redworlds_dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Ciel is 24, Sebastian and Undertaker are 26.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Notes

Ciel already hated it.  
He hated the complex, he hated the apartment, he hated the very reason he was here.  
You see, about three years ago, his childhood home, the Phantomhive manor, was burned to the ground, both his parents still in it. He managed to escape, though how, no one but himself and his secretary and friend, Sebastian knew. All the rest of the world could tell was that he did lose one eye in the process, keeping it covered with a black leather eyepatch. The report on the burning had it listed it as arson, but there were no plausible suspects, no evidence, and no trail to follow, at least nothing of any substance; so there was nothing that could be done but take the proper time to mourn then move on.  
With both his parents gone, Ciel had assumed joint control of the company along with his father’s long standing friend and cofounder, Diedrich. The deal was, Diedrich would take care of the company until Ciel got his degree in business and then begin learning how to run the Funtomhive Company under the tutelage of Diedrich himself. This seemed like a fine plan until Ciel actually had to move to be where the company was, central London. Ciel hated the city. He hated the smell, hated the sound, and he above all hated the sort of people that tended to be in it. Especially his neighbor. God, the bastard was annoying.  
Ciel had only been in the new apartment for 30 seconds when heard the screeching of an electric guitar. Had he been less irritated, he might have thought it sounded somewhat familiar and even quite good, but he was tired, stressed, and just pissed off at the world, so, of course, he hated the guitar too.  
“Sebastian, do we really have to stay here?”  
“Oh come now, it’s not that bad. It was fairly affordable and in a perfect location. I don’t know what we will do with the second room though. Perhaps an office?”  
Sebastian had been Ciel’s saving grace after the death of his parents. They had gone to school together, forming a turbulent friendship that eventually became an unbreakable bond. No one really knows if they are dating or not, and to be perfectly honest, they really weren’t all too sure either. But it worked, and it worked well. Sebastian eventually rose to become the secretary of Funtomhive, allowing him to stay with Ciel. Though he would NEVER admit it, Ciel was grateful for Sebastian for staying with him for all that had happened in the last three years.  
“An office would probably work best. Have a few plants, a desk, and a day bed for guests I suppose.”  
It was then they heard some stomping and yelling in the apartment next to theirs, the guitar screeched again, and fell silent.  
“That was… odd” Ciel murmured half to himself.  
“Indeed. Did those voices sound familiar to you as well?” Sebastian huffed, as he set down the box he was carrying.  
“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. Are the movers here yet?” Ciel turned away from the offending wall and headed back for the door. At least the place had an elevator. No way in HELL was he going to carry all their things up 10 stories.

 

 

Vincent woke up around 2pm, as per usual. The sun was way too bright and whoever was moving in made way to much noise. Holding his splitting head, he shuffled up and looked to his left. Gone, of course. Fucking groupies. They sleep with you to get street cred then sod off. He honestly even didn’t remember what color her hair was, or if she even was a she. Oh man, he was really regretting the extra shots now. He could hear motion in the kitchen, so that meant someone was up. He crawled from his bed, taking a moment to stable himself, before finding some sweat pants to pull on. Running fingers through his long hair, he groaned as they snagged on knots and tangles. Yes, the long, grey hair was a huge benefit on stage and with audiences, but it was really so annoying if he didn’t remember to braid it back before bed (which he, of course, almost never did. Fuck)  
He stumbled into the kitchen. Grell and Ronald were in the living space connected to it, playing a game on their PlayStation, and William was in the kitchen itself, leaning against the counter and sipping on… was that tea? Yeah, it was probably tea.  
“So, you have decided to join the living” William said.  
“More or less, please quite down.”  
“Maybe you should learn to drink less, or at least drink water when you do decide to drink.”  
“And could you not bring back such trashy tramps. Did you see her shade of lipstick, it made her look absolutely diseased!” Grell whined from the couch.  
“Not all ladies can look as beautiful as you, my dear Grell,” Vincent croaked. Damn his throat was dry. What the hell had he been drinking? He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, Tylenol from the medicine drawer, and settled down at the kitchen counter.  
“OOooooohhhh Fuck.” He groaned.  
“You don’t even remember her name, do you?” Will chastised.  
“Not even a face. I could make that into a song. Like an opposite of that Beatles song. What was it again?”  
“’I’ve just seen a face’. The most forward title.” Ronald chimed from the living room.  
“Yeah whatever. An opposite of that. Maybe change the key to a minor or somfin’.”  
“We have new neighbors coming in today. Try not to scare them off as quickly as you did the last ones.” Will muttered into his tea.  
“The last ones were weak and boooooring. Not my fault they can’t handle a little rock and roll.”  
“We are a punk rock band, first of all, second of all, playing Metallica at 4 in the morning is not a socially acceptable behavior. You know how thin that wall is.”  
“They should be thankin’ me for free shows.”  
“You should be thanking them for not getting us evicted. Please, Vincent, behave.”  
After a long swig of water and a thoughtful pause, Vince finally sighed,  
“Fine. No playin’ in the wee morning hours.”  
It was then they heard movements from the other side of the wall. That wall really was thin as hell. They could hear the murmurings of conversation.  
“Didn’t say nothing about the early hours of the afternoon though!”  
Before William could do a thing to stop him, Vince ran towards his beloved guitar, “Death Scythe”. A lovely black electric number with white accents. He had customized it to have a skull on the head and rib looking things added to the body. It gave her a beautifully mournful sound.  
He grabbed her up and began on the first few bars of a song he had been working on. Playing was the only thing that made him happy without fail. Even with a pounding headache, he could still listen to the music they made together forever, no problem.  
Well, one problem. A problem named William. Before he could play for very long, his friend/ manager/ bass guitarist was upon him, unplugging the amp and tackling the giggling grey mass to the ground. Of course, once the instruments were out of the way, the other two had to join the scuffle. A band after all, must always play together. However, whether they played fair was an altogether different story.  
“STOP FUCKING BITING ME!”  
“Oh Willie, admit you like it- OUCH FUCKEN MY NOSE!”  
“Get your HEELS OUT OF MY FACE!”  
“Get your face away from my heels!”  
“WHY ARE YOU STILL WEARING THEM INSIDE?!”  
“Fashion darling! You wouldn’t have heard of it!”  
This went on for about 10 minutes more before they all gave up and sat back. Luckily, no one was injured, just a little bruised and sore, and Vincent’s head was still pounding. There was no sound from the wall as they all caught their breath and looked at each other, before breaking down into hysteric laughter.

Both Ciel and Sebastian stopped talking, stopped moving as they heard the ruckus kick up behind the wall. They could only catch muffled shouts and loud bangs. What was even happening over there?  
“Well, our neighbors are lively, aren’t they?”  
“I hope that’s not a regular occurrence” was all Ciel had to say on the matter before turning back to the boxes that held the life he once lived.

“We should start with the bedroom so we can at least have a good night’s sleep tonight. The furniture is already there. We just need to unpack the boxes and straighten things up.” Sebastian called from the room in question. This snapped Ciel out of the haze he had slipped into. He walked to the room and saw Sebastian crouched down among the boxes, pulling out odd and ends of bedding, wall hangings, books, and shelf objects. The bed and bedroom furniture were all the first things they had had brought up. Sebastian was right, this was the first room that would need to be but together. Where would they sleep otherwise? He bent down to look into the first box at his feet. It was full of photographs, both in frames and loose paper. Of course, there where photos of him and Sebastian from the last several years. Formal dances, a wedding of some business partner, that one time Sebastian convinced him to go to the fair. He would never admit he had a great time there, Sebastian would be far too smug. 

As he got deeper into the box, he started finding older photographs. Those from his school days, before- 

No, stop thinking about it. No amount of remembering or wishing is ever going to change what happened or bring what he once had back. He threw the old pictures back into the box, taking the framed ones he had already chosen out to place around the apartment. He knew he needed to do something with those old photos. He still couldn’t bear to look at them, but he just could not bring himself to get rid of them.

“Ciel, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Sebastian. Do you mind just putting that box of photos in a closet somewhere? I’ve got the ones I wanted out.”

“Of course.” And so the box of photos passed from sight and mostly from mind. Ciel will address it some other time.


End file.
